Part One
By John Pirillo
"In the unlikeliest of places one finds peace, one finds calm, one finds release." Professor Langdon, the Invisible Man.
First let me say that this interview was totally unplanned, as well as unexpected. But being a writer first, and a very curious one at that, I managed to pull back on my emotions and my expectations and get the interview which you are about to read. Herewith let it follow and be said that the man I interviewed is still alive, visits our world frequently on missions for his best friend and has a nasty habit of popping up in the least likely of places when you least expect him to.
As you can imagine this interview came about in the most unlikely of manners. I was seeking a cherry phosphate soda in my hometown of Avella, Pennsylvania. The town had changed much since my child hood. It's funny how the years paint the past in such glowing colors. For when the reality reassumes itself once more, the gold around the edges fades into something more comfortable and livable...reality.
My favorite spot for comic books and phosphates was gone, but there remained a small store on the edge of town that sold comic books and had a soda machine. I dropped in there on my way back from the graveyard of my father, whom had passed away about a decade ago. He wasn't a very happy man. Deeply troubled by his life and his choices, he passed away mostly unforgotten by those he had been close to.
I don't know why, but when I sat down to read the latest Thor, I felt this kind of presence behind me, which was impossible, because a mirror on the wall in front of me showed nothing in the rear of me except racks of comic books, paper backs and grocery items.
I shrugged inwardly, and kept reading, but finally the feeling I was being watched grew so strong I had to get out of there. I bought the comic, pocketed a coke in my right trouser pocket, and shrugged my overcoat on tighter. It was winter and it was freezing and made my way up the street to the hotel I was staying at. I could have stayed at my relatives, but I wanted to be able to come back to peace and quiet. My Italian relatives would go on all night if I stayed with them. It's what they had done when I was young with them.
I made it to my hotel without any more weird feelings, but the moment I got back into my room and locked the door, I got that feeling again. I turned on the lights and no one was there.
"Must be some kind of fatigue. Jet lag." I said to myself.
"Highly unlikely."
I turned around and standing in front of my door was a very conservative looking man with a shock of thick hair graying at the temples, eyes that had seen too many books up close, and a strong nose and jaw that showed great strength of character. He was wearing a Victorian jacket, trousers and top hat. He held a cane up in the air and nodded. "Professor Langdon at your disposal."
Since he blocked the way out, I played it cautious. How had this stranger gotten into my room without me knowing it?
"Invisible." He said, as if answering my thoughts.
"Who are you and what do you want from me?" I demanded, looking for some way I might escape this mysterious intruder if I had to, which at that moment seemed unlikely I would be able to, but I had to at least think I had a chance.
"I am Professor Langdon, and I am the man you have been writing about for quite some time now."
My knees began to quiver and shake. "Him?"
"Yes."
He moved past me, I turning as he did so to keep my eyes on him, and then sat down at the only table in the room. "Do you have maid service? I could use a spot of tea."
The ridiculousness of his statement took all the fear out of me and maybe because of the stress of the moment I burst into a long and loud laughter, that made must have made me appear a kind of crazy man at that moment. He watched me as I dispelled my fear, and then motioned to a chair on the opposite side of the table with his cane. "Please sit down."
I sat down and eyed him closely.
He appeared taller in person than I had imagined in my writing, and also more ruggedly handsome. I had felt Professor Langdon to be youthful and good looking, but not in such an athletic way.
"I work out a lot." He said, again reading my mind.
"Do all you people read our minds?" I asked.
"No. Only yours, because you created us. Well, sort of anyway."
"I'd like you to interview me." He continued, absent-mindedly picking at lint on his overcoat, which now that I think about it in retrospect, was out of season, because it was not nearly thick enough to keep one warm in our environment.
I settled a bit, then nodded. "I could do that."
I hopped up, scrambled to my nightstand where my cell phone was recharging, glanced at its level. Enough to start, then unplugged it and came to the table.
"I don't have fresh tea, but there are some bags in the kitchenette." I pointed out.
I laid down my cell phone and rushed into the kitchenette and hurriedly heated some water in the microwave, then poured it into a Styrofoam cup and dumped several tea slips into it and a bit of honey I had bought earlier in the day. I started towards him with the cup, and then remembering my manners, grabbed a spoon and napkin. I set them before him.
He eyed the concoction, sniffing at it as if it might attack him, and then sipped. His eyes widened. "This is excellent."
"I can get you more if you like?"
He shook his head. "Let's start the interview."
He touched my cell phone, and accidentally activated the alarm on it. He jumped back from the table, cane at the ready as if he were going into battle. I laughed. "It's just a warning."
He gave me a wary look. "Does it bite?"
"Only if you stick it in your mouth." I jested.
He caught my look and gave me a considering look, then nodded and sat down again. He mopped up some of the spilled tea he had created when he knocked into the table, and I hurriedly got up and grabbed some more napkins for him. He finished cleaning, wiped his lips, and then sighed with relief.
"It's hard getting used to your world. It's so....well..."
"Different?"
"No. Antiquated."
I laughed then.
His eyebrows rose in puzzlement. "You find that funny?"
"Actually, I do, because the world I have written about with you in it is Victorian England, but with some twists, but basically about a hundred years behind our times."
"Well, be that as it may, there's much about our world you have not imagined. Perhaps in time and with further interviews you'll remedy those misconceptions."
"Perhaps." I agreed somewhat reluctantly, not sure whether to believe him or not. I may have written the character, but this man seated before me was much different in subtle ways than I had imagined. My character tended to be more flighty, like a bird watching for traffic lest it get run over, but this one seemed more self assured.
"I touched the voice recorder."It's now recording."
"Really, I must have one of those before I return to my world."
"How do you intend to do that?" I asked.
He snorted. "The same way I came here, how else?" He answered as if that settled everything.
I smiled. Definitely different than the man I had written about.
"No, I meant how you intend to purchase one of these." I tapped my phone. "They cost hundreds of dollars. This one's an Apple. Cost me seven hundred."
"Pounds?"
"No American dollars."
"I say, that's rather improper to ask for so much money for such a simple thing."
"You don't know the half of it." I replied.
He observed me quietly a moment, then continued. "Please, ask me anything. I'm yours for the next half hour."
I grew nervous. I hadn't anticipated such an interview, so I was also totally unprepared for what to ask next. So I shot in the dark.
"What drove you to become the Invisible Man?"
"Science. Plain, pure and simple. Without science man might as well be a naked ape, for he would know nothing, do nothing and have nothing."
"So you believe that science is the driving force behind humanity?"
"Yes. I do. You should see all the contraptions my good friends Jules and Wells constantly come up with. Tesla and Edison are much the same, and Einstein...the man's a genius!"
"He was here too."
"Here too? You mean he has also lived on your world?"
"Actually, yes. But much different from the one you know. He was a refugee from the Nazis."
"What are Nazis?"
"Pray you never find out." I warned him.
He nodded, but I could see he didn't understand.
"If we meet again, I'll explain."
"I understand. Now that we've started this...uh, interview...you must make the most of it."
"Yes. And by the way, what made you come to me of all people?" I asked.
"Why Professor Challenger of course. He met you at a comic book convention. You know that funny place where everyone dresses up like monsters and ghosts and pretend to be famous comic book characters."
"You have comic books in the Baker Street Universe?"
"Since you began writing them into existence. Yes. By the way, I'd like to thank you for doing so, reading a comic book is much more comfortable when going to the men's room, than holding a six hundred page book written by Mark Twain."
I smiled, and then frowned. "Six hundred pages?"
"Yes. You know, 'The Art of Loving.'" He answered.
"Never heard of it."
He shrugged. "Our worlds do differ as I have said.
I nodded, glanced at my cell. It was nearly at zero already.
"What was your first thought when you realized you were invisible?"
"To scream like a girl."
I burst into laughter.
He indulged me, and then touched my arm with his cane. "It is very unmanly to laugh at another man's weakness."
"I'm sorry." I apologized. "It's just hard for me to imagine you doing that when most of us Americans are more used to our version of the Invisible Man going berserk and destroying everything he can."
"Oh, I was mad all right. Have you ever tried shaving your face with a razor, when you can't tell where your nose and lips are? Hurts like the dickens when you miss, I'll tell you."
My cell phone blinked.
"One last question and then I'll have to recharge my phone."
"May I watch?"
"I think it'll take lot longer than the thirty minutes you've given me."
"In that case." He spoke as he stood. "I shall return tomorrow at the same time and we'll continue this...uh...interview."
I stood as well and took his hand in mine. "It would be a pleasure. And I'd like to thank you for thinking of me like this."
He went to the door, opened it and turned back. "And I'd like to thank you for creating me." He winked. "Especially creating me like I am, and not that other horrid fellow you described." And with those last words, he departed my hotel. I watched him descend to the ground floor, and then as he walked, he seemed to fade into the evening light, like a ghost dematerializing.
I went back to my phone, plugged it into its recharger, and then mulled over our few words. Next interview, I intended to be better prepared than this time.
I'll publish the second part of our interview once it is done. He promised tomorrow, but one never knows with one's creations what they will actually do until they have accomplished it.
Your friend and author.
John Pirillo
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